Apples And Trees
by Fangoriously
Summary: Fifteen years after the war, Harry Potter is invited to join the Hogwarts staff, his daughter tagging along. Threat of a new war and an old flame make Harry's new job interesting. Slash! And a lot of it, too.
1. Introduction: a Prologue, if you will

The war between the dark and light forces of the wizarding world was hell on everyone involved. When fighting broke out during Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts, he quickly found himself changed from The Boy Who Lived to The Boy Who Will Save Us All. His existence was a beacon of hope to those who lost loved ones and struggled with the pain of living during troubled and dangerous times. His enthusiasm towards living as normal a life as possible and fighting the good fight pleased the masses; hundreds of people showed up for his wedding to Ginny Weasley, and their home was barraged with owls bearing gifts at the birth of their first daughter. Still, despite outward appearances, Harry was never a huge fan of all the attention he received, and after Ginny died in the final battle against Voldemort he was more than happy to pack up his belongings and move with his daughter to quieter pastures.  
  
Somehow, Harry ended up in Germany. News of a small settlement of English wizard refugees floated around Britain in the aftermath of the war, and Harry felt it prudent to leave the place where so many of his friends died- Ginny, Ron, Fred, Dean... the list went on, so many of his Hogwarts classmates gave their lives to the cause. After bidding Hermione and the remaining Weasleys farewell, he withdrew the majority of his savings from Gringotts and relocated to the village of Schoen. He spent the next eleven years living a quiet life as the local magistrate and raising his daughter.   
  
When she turned eleven, Harry offered his daughter the option of attending any wizarding school in Europe, emphasizing how much fun he thought she'd have at Hogwarts. Much to his shock, she decided that the school for her was Durmstrang, and although he had reservations Harry allowed her to attend there. Despite his worries, he found that Durmstrang didn't have a negative effect on her relationship with him, although she suddenly had a much broader perspective of the World's Opinion Of Harry Potter, and found that she had some predetermined friends and enemies simply because of her last name. Harry was concerned about that, but she assured him that she was perfectly capable of making it clear that the only friends she would accept were those she actually liked, and the only enemies she would acknowledge were those that pissed her off.  
  
All was calm in Harry Potter's world. The calm crashed into fragments when a Hogwarts owl, incredibly exhausted, flew in through his window on a blustery January morning in his daughter's fifth year of school.   
  
******  
  
Draia Potter thoroughly enjoyed her fifth year at Durmstrang. As she dragged the cart carrying her trunk and cat carrier up the path towards her house, she idly thought about all she accomplished during the year: good marks, her award for skill in Transfiguration, being voted Hottest fifth-year, hooking up with Livia Trauberg- plenty of things to be proud of. She was excited to talk about her year with her father, who would surely appreciate all her stories, even the Livia one. She'd accidentally come out to him when she was fourteen- he stumbled upon Draia and the neighbor's daughter making out in an abandoned barn, and they had a heartfelt conversation the next evening. Harry informed her that he had no problems with her sexuality; he was partial to men himself. Draia was more than slightly shocked.  
  
"But what about mum?" she had asked. ...  
  
"Well, your mother and I had an odd arrangement. She just wanted to live with me, to love me, and I loved her too, just not the way she loved me. She understood about..." Harry had stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence, and refused to continue on the subject. Immersed in relief about his acceptance of her own tendencies, Draia decided not to push the issue. Yet.  
  
Mind returning to the present day, Draia noticed she'd already reached the house. She stopped to let Sarra, her cat, out of the carrier, and went inside. Harry was waiting for her, and rushed over for a hug. She embraced him happily, glad to be home with her beloved father again. "I've missed you, daddy," she whispered into his shoulder. Harry nodded slightly, murmuring "I've missed you too." He ushered Draia over to the kitchen table. She sat, and he remained standing, looking slightly pained.  
  
"Draia, I really want to hear about your year, but first... there's something important we have to discuss."  
  
"If this is about the fire incident in the library, it wasn't my fault and they promised me they wouldn't inform you..."  
  
"Fire incident?" asked Harry, confused.  
  
"Umm... nevermind," Draia responded.  
  
"Right. Well, anyway, I've been offered a position at Hogwarts, as the Defense Against Dark Arts professor, and also the Head of Gryffindor. I never thought I'd want to go back there, but... it's been long enough, and I'm just getting bored here..." he trailed off.  
  
"Alright, fine, go to Hogwarts then. Why do you need my permission?"  
  
"Well... it's just that it's pretty far away, I don't want to be that far from you. I'd need you to drop out of Durmstrang and attend Hogwarts."  
  
Draia, to her credit, retained her composure, although she flushed a bright shade of red inherited from the Weasley side of the family. "Do you realize..." she started, then stopped, giving herself a moment to collect her thoughts. "Do you realize what that would do to me? Going away from all my friends and classes and everything at Durmstrang and going to a new school, where I'm completely unestablished and would only have two years?"  
  
Harry nodded. "I understand. But..." his voice cracked as he continued, "it would just mean so much to me, being back there and seeing my old professors and friends and my friends' children, and proving to them that I hadn't run away forever, and..."  
  
Nervous, Draia watched as her father covered his face with a hand. She'd never seen him so distraught: the Harry Potter she knew was calm, in control of his emotions. She couldn't stand it. "Okay, well, if it means that much to you, fine, but I expect to be sufficiently bribed for this."  
  
Harry couldn't help smiling. "I didn't expect you to say yes so quickly. But... bribery? Alright, then, I suppose if I need to resort to requested bribes, I can figure some out."  
  
"No need to. I already have my terms." Draia had been waiting for an opportunity to get her father in a position where he owed her favors- as much as she loved him, she was willing to do what she needed to get what she wanted. "I want to dye my hair, and get a few piercings." Harry raised an eyebrow. "I thought we decided Muggle culture was uncouth and shabby?" Draia snorted, "Not a style that has so much potential for scaring away skitterish people."  
  
"Oh, fine," sighed Harry, "You can do what you want, so long as you stay mostly presentable."  
  
"Fantastic! Feel free to start packing, in that case." Draia found herself smiling as well. Although at first the concept of Hogwarts was upsetting, but she realized it would be a challenge. And who was she to ignore a challenge?


	2. Chapter Two, or Not All Potters are Gryf...

Although Draia was never overly impressed by anything (or so she claimed), the architecture of Hogwarts left her momentarily speechless. As she stepped out of her carriage, her eyes were drawn to the many towers, the lake, the Forbidden Forest on the outskirts- it was odd to see the location of so many of her father's stories. She found herself staring at the huge front doors while her father stood off to the side seeing about the house elves carrying their belongings and talking to Minerva McGonagall. After a minute he called Draia over. She hastily brushed invisible dirt off of the shoulders of her olive woolen cloak, and sauntered towards McGonagall.  
  
"Professor- I mean, Headmistress McGonagall, this is my daughter Draia. Draia, this is the Headmistress." The two women shook hands, and McGonagall looked over Draia appraisingly. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, Miss Potter." The old professor glanced at Harry, and then back to Draia. "You have your father's eyes. And your mother's smile. Though I'm not quite sure where that hair's from..." she said, eying Draia's platinum locks.  
  
"Bribery. And hair dye," answered Draia, "I was pushing for blue but Dad really liked the blonde, so I kept it." McGonagall snorted. "I wonder why. At any rate, we need to get you sorted- we don't usually accept transfer students, so having you at the Sorting Ceremony with all the first-years would be most inconvenient. Follow me, please." With that, she turned on her heel and walked towards the castle, expecting Harry and Draia to follow her. The younger Potter turned to her father, raising an eyebrow. "Is she usually so no-nonsense?"  
  
Harry laughed. "No. She's often worse."  
  
******  
  
The Headmistress' office hadn't changed since Harry's years at Hogwarts, and he could almost feel the presence of Dumbledore in the décor. McGonagall even went so far as to keep a jar of Udo's Ultra-Sour Lemon Drops on her desk. Paintings on the wall smiled and waved at Harry in recognition- a rather large portrait of the old Headmaster himself gave Harry a knowing wink. As soon as Harry and Draia seated themselves in plush chairs, the elderly Headmistress retrieved the Sorting Hat and made her way back to the sitting area. "Hopefully we'll get this done quickly," she said as she placed the hat on Draia's head.  
  
The hat instantly sprang to life, speaking only to Draia. "Hmmm, well now, let's see- oh! Another Potter. Perhaps we should just put you in Gryffindor and get it done with- oh, but look at this... you may be brave, but only when it suits you. You're loyal to those who you feel have earned it, and intelligent only when it interests you to be so. I think it's clear that you belong in..."  
  
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat announced to its startled audience. Harry turned a lovely shade of pale. "Slytherin? But... you're..." McGonagall was just as shocked, but shook her head. "The hat is always right, Professor Potter. I suppose I'll just be contacting the Head of Slytherin to take Draia to the dungeons." With that, she left abruptly.  
  
"Umm... the dungeons?" asked Draia, confused.  
  
"Oh, that's just where Slytherin is," responded Harry. "But... Draia, do you think that's right? Are you alright with being a Slytherin? Because, you know, if you don't want to..."  
  
"Dad, it's okay. I'm okay with it. Besides, can you imagine how horrible it would be if you were my head of house? It's a damned good thing I didn't end up in Gryffindor."  
  
"Well, if you're sure, then... I'm...." Harry gradually stopped speaking as McGonagall walked back into the room followed by the Head of Slytherin. Harry blinked to make sure he wasn't hallucinating: icy gray eyes, pale blonde hair, lean figure, vague sneer. No, he wasn't seeing things, much to his shock.  
  
"Professor Potter, I'm sure you remember Draco Malfoy, our Professor of Potions and Head of Slytherin. Professor Malfoy, this is your new sixth-year, Draia Potter."  
  
Malfoy nodded politely at Draia, no break of composure evident in his manner. "Fantastic to have you in Slytherin, Miss Potter. I'm confident you'll find yourself welcomed in our house. If you'd follow me, I'll show you to your room." With that, he turned around and began to walk out of the room. Draia cast an apologetic glance at her father before rushing after Malfoy. Harry, for his part, sat silently in his chair, confused and a little hurt. "He didn't even say hello... he's alive? He's a Professor here? My God, you put him in charge of children?"  
  
McGonagall smiled at Harry. "I think you'll find he's actually quite talented with the children. This is his sixth year here- he took over for Severus Snape when the man finally had his fill of teaching and took his retirement."   
  
Harry couldn't find any words. When McGonagall gave him a strange look, he shook his head. "You have to pardon me, Headmistress..."  
  
McGonagall shook her head. "Please, Harry, it's Minerva now. You're thirty-five years old, there's no need to act like a scared second-year around me."  
  
Harry nodded. "Well, fine then, Minerva... you understand why I'm a bit..." Once more, Harry was a loss for words, but McGonagall understood and nodded. "I understand completely, Harry. After all, I wasn't blind during your seventh year here."  
  
"And sixth year," added Harry, under his breath. McGonagall blinked, and then laughed. "Perhaps I was a bit blind after all." You weren't the only one, thought Harry.  
  
******  
  
Later that evening, the Hogwarts professors gathered at the Head Table for their last student-less meal. Well, mostly student-less: Draia was sitting at the table next to her father, eating daintily to avoid messing her new Slytherin robes, and a dark haired girl Harry couldn't quite place who was quietly eating next to Malfoy. Upon closer inspection he noticed she was in Gryffindor; he'd find out who she was later. Currently, the conversation at the table was too engaging to avoid, and Harry listened intently as McGonagall and Draia discussed the differences between Durmstrang and Hogwarts. Most of the other Professors, half of which Harry was unfamiliar with, participated in the conversation; only Malfoy didn't contribute, instead conversing softly with the girl next to him.   
  
As the meal concluded, Malfoy gave the girl a kiss on the cheek (Harry could have sworn he was hallucinating) and exit the room. Harry quickly pat Draia on the shoulder, diverting her attention from the discussion she was engrossed in. "Good luck tomorrow, poppet." She smiled and nodded, "Thanks, Dad," before returning to the talk, allowing Harry to run out of the room after the blonde man.  
  
"Malfoy! Wait!" Harry called out, running after him. When the man didn't respond, Harry tried again. "Draco... please!" Malfoy stopped, and turned around. "Potter- do me a favor? And shut your gob until we get to my rooms." With that, he started walking again, as a stunned Harry followed. As he walked, he allowed his mind to wonder- he knew his way to the Slytherin dungeons by heart, anyway. But what was wrong with Malfoy? He was just being so... cold, perhaps? Almost like fifth year, before... Harry sighed quietly as the two reached the rooms that once belonged to Snape.  
  
"Liquid silver" Draco muttered at the painting guarding his door, an angry looking wizard, and Harry followed him through. Nice furniture, thought Harry- he couldn't help noticing how grand- and expensive- the décor in Malfoy's rooms appeared to be. Harry briefly closed his eyes, then settled himself on an end of the plush green couch in the sitting room. Malfoy sat on the opposite side, looking down.  
  
"Malfoy..." Harry started. Malfoy looked up, and grey eyes met green.  
  
"Harry." The unguarded emotion carried by that word alone struck the dark haired wizard by surprise- this wasn't the cold Malfoy he had encountered in the halls, but...  
  
"Draco?" Having spent the day being strong, Harry couldn't help letting the feelings leak out through his voice. Pain, sadness, hope. "I... I thought you were dead. They all said you were dead. The bloody Ministry said you were dead. Why aren't you dead?"  
  
"Harry..." Draco caught himself before his voice could waver too much. He paused for a second, trying to regain his composure. "I think we have a lot to talk about."


	3. Chapter Three, or Why Smoking is Bad For...

"I think we have a lot to talk about."  
  
Harry was livid. "No fucking kidding," He jumped off the couch and began to pace in front of it. His fingers flew up to his glasses, rubbing the frame between his thumb and forefinger. Draco sighed as he recognized the nervous habits. Before he could comment, Harry continued.  
  
"I don't give a shit if my pacing annoys you, I'm doing it anyway. I've done a marvelous job of keeping my countenance since the war, and I bloody well intend to keep it." He turned on his heel to face Draco, explaining in short, clipped sentences, "This isn't my mess. There's nothing for me to talk about. It's all you. So explain."  
  
Draco glanced up at the ceiling, hoping some unknown deity might intervene and allow him to avoid embarrassing himself. "You know I'm bad with stories, Potter."   
  
Harry gingerly lowered himself to the floor, tucked his knees up to his chin, and glared over them at the blonde. "Just. Start."  
  
After clearing his throat, Draco began his tale, continuing to stare at the ceiling throughout the entirety. "Well, I suppose I would start it right after we graduated, when you were working with Dumbledore and his little group. I went back to the Manor and played up like I was going to join the Death Eaters- oh, don't look at me like I killed your puppy, Potter, what did you think I was doing there? Enjoying the Quidditch pitch and drinking lemonade? Of course I was preparing to side up with my father, even if I had no intention of doing so. He was quite pleased about the entire thing- let me marry Pansy Parkinson as a reward."   
  
He snorted. "Some reward. Eventually, my father and his cronies set an appropriate task for my initiation- the discovery and arson of-"  
  
"Of 12 Grimmauld Place," Harry provided, blinking slowly as if the information was difficult to process. "And that's when you warned us about the impending attack..."  
  
"Ten points to Gryffindor," Draco muttered wryly. "At any rate, after warning you, I... it was just bad. I didn't want to go against my father- you knew that, Potter, I always told you that Malfoy pride was the first thing ever whacked into my head and would likely be the last one to leave. But... but then there was you. I didn't know what to do. I knew I couldn't help you, but at the same time I would have rather died than fight you, than know I contributed to your pain in some way. I'm not a Gryffindor; by no means whatsoever do I have any of that bravery or complete lack of foresight that seem to go hand in hand with members of your house. I'm a Slytherin. So I did the most sensible thing possible. I ran off."  
  
Despite his anger, Harry found himself letting his guard down, particularly as Draco rushed through describing how he couldn't hurt the dark haired wizard. "Where did you go, Draco?" he asked softly.  
  
"Oh, France, of course. It made so much sense. My family's French, so fitting in there wouldn't be too hard- et je comprends la langue, peut-être moins que mes parents, mais..." Off Harry's blank look, Draco sighed in disgust. "French. I speak it. Honestly, Potter, you have no culture to speak of. You probably would have adored France, though- Pansy utterly hated it. She wanted to live in Paris, but I insisted on a small home in the south. Much safer, more remote."  
  
"Wait... Pansy was willing to go with you to France?" Harry couldn't help the rancor in his tone- he was jealous that Pansy was able to be bound to Draco, live with him. The other man picked up on it instantly.  
  
"Yes, self-preservation instincts were unusually high in my year of Slytherins- I believe everyone scattered around the globe, just to get away. Pansy was more than willing to come with me- she was pregnant, concerned for our child as well." Draco paused, and looked Harry straight in the eye. "I didn't love her. Not in the least. We... consummated... the bond once, and my daughter was born from that. Pansy died in childbirth, though. So my daughter and I lived happily ever after by ourselves in France until she was ready to start and Hogwarts and Severus contacted me about replacing him, and blah blah blah now we're here."  
  
"We- that was her at the table tonight? But that girl was a Gryffindor!"  
  
Draco smirked, shaking his head in mock ruefulness. "I knew it from when she was young. The clincher was some snowstorm when she was eight, and her kitten was out in it, and she stayed up and snuck out in the middle of the night to find her. Only a Gryffindor would do something stupid like that. At that point I resigned myself to the fact that Harriet was probably the first Malfoy in a century or three not to be a Slytherin."  
  
Harry gasped. "Harriet? You named her Harriet?"  
  
As Draco's cheeks colored, he cupped his face in his hands to hide them. "She looked like you. She had dark hair. I felt it was appropriate. It's not like I didn't miss yours' name, either- Draia? At least Harriet's in good company, about one of every ten children in England has some variant of your name these days..."  
  
Harry shrugged. "Ginny agreed with me on it. She always was so accepting..."  
  
Draco nodded, "Granger told me about your arrangement with her. It took me a while to get over it."  
  
"Granger told you? You've been talking to Hermione?"  
  
"Well, of course I have. After all, she is just over in Hogsmeade. I was shocked that she hadn't mentioned me to you."  
  
It was Harry's turn to blush, sinking once more behind his knees. "I haven't been very good at keeping up with people back home, I'm afraid. Other than a Christmas card once a year with a family picture, I don't owl back home very often. There was just... too much to think about, you know?"  
  
"Yeah. I know."  
  
******  
  
Elsewhere within the walls of the school, Draia Potter was quickly learning that a photographic memory wasn't much of a help in a castle with moving staircases. Lost for the third time in the past hour alone, she muttered to herself under her breath as she glanced at the split stairway in front of her. "Right or left? I came from behind, and then around, then up... or was that down? Maybe horizontal... oh, bother, right..." As she clonked up the stairs, she glared at the paintings who giggled at her. "I keep a container of turpentine among my things," she warned, which promptly shut them up.   
  
At the top of the staircase was a heavy wooden door. Seeing as it lacked any signs suggesting "Beware!", "Turn back now!", or "Flesh eating monkeys with poor taste in clothing beyond," Draia saw no problem with going through the door. She was relieved to find that it let her out onto a balcony, overlooking the Forbidden Forest and allowing a fantastic view of the stars. As she made her way towards the balustrade, she pulled her wand out of her pocket. Mahogany, eleven inches, inflexible, thestral tail hair: her pride and joy. The man at the counter of the small shop where her wand was purchased mentioned that few people had wands with thestral hair, and since then she had developed a strong affinity towards both her wand as well as towards thestrals. She sincerely hoped to find the herd that lived at Hogwarts; she couldn't help half wishing she'd be able to see them.  
  
After the wand, Draia pulled out a pack of cigarettes. A bad habit picked up from a friend at Durmstrang, she had thus far kept it successfully hidden from her father. She pulled out a cigarette from the pack, putting it between her lips. A flick of her wand and a quiet "Incendio" lit the cigarette, and Draia inhaled. Just as she was about to exhale, someone behind her spoke. "I could report you for this."  
  
Draia started coughing, and turned around, frowning. "School hasn't started yet. And my father's a professor, so..."  
  
The other girl stepped out from the shadows into the moonlight. She was the Gryffindor Draia remembered from dinner. Dark brown hair was piled on top of her head in two messy buns, grey eyes flashed in the starlight and glowered at the offending cigarette in Draia's hand. Draia was captivated. "My father's a professor as well, and I can reassure you that it doesn't curtail any sort of elevated status here. And school may not have started, but that's a dirty habit. I'm sure you don't want Professor Potter finding out about it..." Despite being annoyed, Draia couldn't help noticing that the other girl had an accent. She shook her head- not a good time to be thinking about accents or silvery eyes or that smirk that really had no place on a Gryffindor's face, if anything her father had mentioned was true...  
  
Her father! "If you even mention it to him, I'll... well, I'm not quite sure what I'll do, but it won't be good, I guarantee." She paused, and flicked the cigarette over her shoulder and off the balcony, not removing her gaze from the Gryffindor. "Who are you, anyway?"  
  
"Harriet Malfoy. And you're Draia Potter. My father was telling me about yours- he respects him. For now, I'll extend that to you." She turned, walking back towards the castle. Without turning around, she said "Try not to let me catch you out here again. You've already destroyed your hair- it's not necessary to do it to your lungs as well." With that, she walked in.  
  
Draia was left blinking and slightly openmouthed, not used to situations in which she couldn't get a word in edgewise. She was Draia Potter; the advantage was supposed to be hers. Shaking her head in an attempt to clear it out, she lit another cigarette. Hundreds of thoughts flew around her head, yet the only one strong enough for her to voice was, "Bloody hormones..."


	4. Chapter Four, or Being New Is a Bit Anno...

On the official first day of school, Draia found herself nervously waiting at the Slytherin table. She couldn't help the feelings of dread creeping up her spine- this was it, her shot at establishing herself at Hogwarts. Although she was a popular girl at Durmstrang, she fully understood that the Slytherins who would be her peers had already spent five years getting to know each other. The feeling that she was infringing couldn't help but surface. Still, she kept her face a stolid mask, hiding her emotions far beneath the surface.  
  
Darting her eyes around the room, Draia took in her surroundings. Her father sat at the head table, conversing excitedly with the other professors. Apparently he knew some of them from his own time as a student, judging by his animated conversation with the Herbology professor, Longtrousers or something like that. Something Draia found particularly annoying was the lone inhabitant of the Gryffindor table- that rotten Harriet Malfoy. She looked as if she were waiting for a crowd of sycophants to come kiss her robes and that shiny prefect badge. _Although there are better parts of her to- UGH! Stop that, Draia, you really need to find something else to focus on._  
  
As the arriving students finally began to shuffle in, Draia checked herself one last time: robes in order? Check, and the green and silver tie was certainly working well with her eyes. Hair in order? Lovely fake blonde hair in plaits down her back, check. Face perfect? Hours spent on makeup (including her rather expensive Marili Jordach lip gloss) meant a check, check, check. Knowledge about the school and its traditions, check thanks to a knowledgeable father and a once-through of "Hogwarts, A History". Yes, everything was perfectly in order except for her nerves, which were so scattered that her hands nearly shook.   
  
The older Slytherins made their way to their table, eying the unfamiliar girl sitting there with both interest and suspicion.   
  
"Who are you?" asked a chubby girl with dull eyes and mousey hair, sitting herself across from Draia.  
  
"I'm Draia," she responded, leaving out her last name on purpose. If the reaction she received at Hogwarts was anywhere _near_ what she got at Durmstrang- well, that would be bad. "My father's a new professor. I transferred from Durmstrang."  
  
Instant respect lit the eyes of many of the students around her. Durmstrang was still well known as a dark school, despite the new Headmaster's campaign to popularize it for its other aspects.  
  
"So you're a sixth year then? Since you're sitting with us. And we're sixth years," proclaimed yet another overweight boy. _Is there some sort of overly high fat content in Slytherin food?_ wondered Draia.  
  
"Yes, I'm a sixth year. And you are...?" she said, raising her eyebrow for good effect.  
  
"Oh, I'm a sixth year too."  
  
A wiry girl with bushy red hair elbowed the boy. "She wanted to know your name, dimwit, you already _told_ her you were a sixth year. He's Gregory Goyle, the third, by the way. That girl," she nodded her head towards the chubby one, "is Lindsay Crabbe, and... aren't the rest of you going to introduce yourselves or do I have to do the rest of you idiots as well?"  
  
"I'm Jesalyn Thelps."  
  
"Mitchell Rabion."  
  
"Garon Zabini."  
  
"Thomas Flint."  
  
"Allynis Bustrode."  
  
The redhead cast a glance at Allynis. "Ally there is just a fifth year, but she likes to tag along with us. And I, of course, am Margaret Weasley. Maggie, for short."  
  
"You're a Weasley?" asked Draia, shocked, but before Maggie could answer, Headmistress McGonagall started speaking. After welcomes were made, she started on announcements.  
  
"This year, we are pleased to welcome an old student back to Hogwarts. Perhaps you have heard of our new faculty member, Professor Harry Potter, who will be teaching Defense Against Dark Arts and serving as the Head of Gryffindor House." Excited applause sprang from most of the Great Hall, save for from the Slytherin table. Most of the Slytherins were staring or glaring at Draia, as she did her best to just keep staring at McGonagall. As the Sorting Ceremony started and dragged on, she felt eyes drilling holes into her back. The instant the first years were sorted, everyone began to speak at once.  
  
"Harry Potter? My dad said he changed his name and moved to Australia!"  
  
"My mum said that the Dark Lord left him with a degenerating curse and he's been dying in a cave."  
  
"Does that mean the new girl's a Potter?"  
  
"You're Draia POTTER?"  
  
"A Potter in Slytherin?"  
  
"Is she a spy?"  
  
Draia had no time to get a word in edgewise throughout the onslaught. After the Slytherins finally quieted, Maggie gave her an odd look.  
  
"So you're a Potter?" she asked.  
  
"And you're a Weasley. What of it?" retorted Draia, annoyed.  
  
"Well, why're you in Slytherin, then?" questioned Jesalyn.  
  
"Because the Sorting Hat put me here. Just because I'm a Potter doesn't mean I'm a Gryffindor. That whole thing about apples not falling far from trees is crap."  
  
"If you're really a Potter... then who's your mum?" asked Crabbe (around a mouthful of beef, naturally.)  
  
"Virginia Weasley," replied Draia, with not a hint of shame. Her father had warned her that Slytherins might not be accepting of Weasleys, but they seemed to like Maggie well enough, so she figured it was fine.  
  
Maggie couldn't help but gasp. "Then we're cousins."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"My dad was your mum's brother. Ron Weasley."  
  
"You're one of his children? I was named after him!"  
  
"Draia is a far cry from Ron..."   
  
"My middle name. Rona."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Wow indeed," concurred Draia. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm starving. If anyone would like to attack my family's honor or my status as a Slytherin, feel free to do so _after_ I have a decent meal. I'm much better at throwing hexes when I'm full."  
  
With that, the Slytherins left off and began to eat and converse. Draia was left alone on the subject of her family for the duration of the meal, and found herself in deep conversation with Ally and Garon about the benefits of Durmstrang versus the benefits of Hogwarts. Inwardly, she found herself smiling. Yes, she'd do quite well in Slytherin.  
  
******  
  
Across the Great Hall, at the Gryffindor table, the conversation was nearly the same as it was with the Slytherins:  
  
"Harry Potter is alive?"  
  
"What's his daughter doing at the Slytherin table? That is his daughter, right?"  
  
"Where'd they come from?"  
  
"Is he going to stop the Second Incursion?"  
  
"Harriet, what's your dad have to say about this?"  
  
Harriet Malfoy couldn't help but snort in muffled laughter at the question. "Papa says that Harry Potter is the seventh great mystery of the wizarding world, but that he'll serve as a fantastic DADA professor. And your mum said that he was the greatest, bravest wizard who ever lived, or something like that, and considering how restricted Mrs. Weasley usually is with her gushing, that's a lot for her to say. Plus, he did stop Voldemort and all that."  
  
Albus Jonathon Weasley, known to anyone who didn't want to get punched as Jack, winced. "You know I hate it when you say that name, Harriet."  
  
"Oh, get over it, he's been dead for almost as long as you've been alive," snapped Harriet, as she helped herself to a piece of bread.   
  
"But with the Second Incursion, it's still not a good idea to say it," said Andrew Weasley, grabbing the bread out of Harriet's hand.  
  
"He's right, you know," added Rob Jordon, as he ripped a piece of the bread out of Andrew's hand for good measure.  
  
"Honestly, there's a bowl of bread in the middle of the table. A replenishing bowl of bread, I might add. Why do you always need to act like barbarians?" asked Harriet, as she reached for another slice.  
  
Megan Weasley grinned as she casually bit the leg off of a struggling chocolate frog. "Because we're Weasleys, obviously." At this, Rob exclaimed, "I'm not a Weasley!"  
  
"Then you have no justification," said Emily Finnigan. With a worried glance at the Slytherin table, she asked, "Have you met the Potter girl yet, Harriet?"  
  
Harriet nodded, "It's really a shame that Harry Potter had a daughter like that. She's just a rotten apple, I guess."  
  
The Gryffindors around her nodded in agreement, and they continued on with their meal.  
  
******  
  
Elsewhere in the Great Hall, Harry was finishing a chicken leg very happily. Sixteen years of his own less than proficient home cooked meals made him long for the mastery of the Hogwarts house elf cuisine. As he put the bone on his plate, Minerva approached him from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. He couldn't help but flinch; war reflexes, he ascribed it to. "Yes?" he asked, struggling to get the last bite of chicken down his throat so he wouldn't sound like an idiot.  
  
"We're having a meeting of the Order in fifteen minutes. In the Room of Requirement."  
  
Harry blinked, "The Order still exists?"  
  
Minerva nodded her head gravely. "Oh, Mr. Potter, you have been away from us for too long. You'll hear about everything at the meeting." With that, she walked off, presumably to tell other faculty members of the Order about the impending meeting.  
  
Harry sighed. His first two days at Hogwarts were not going well- his daughter being sorted into Slytherin (although she seemed to be doing well at the table), the disastrous meeting with Draco in which he clumsily excused himself when he discovered he could no longer think of anything to say, being torn away from his scrumptious meal, and the bothersome revelation that he was probably about to be called upon to save the world again.   
  
No, not a good time for Harry Potter at all.


	5. Chapter Five, or Meetings, Schedules, De...

Thank you all so much for the feedback! It's really lovely to see you all liking my story- it's my first, so I'm just very excited ^.^

And without further ado, chapter five!

******

As Harry walked to the Room of Requirement, he wondered what the current problem was. Of course, there were whisperings of a new war arising when he lived in Germany, but he did his best to ignore them; his feelings were that saving the world and losing so much in the process entitled him to live the rest of his life in isolation. It took fifteen years and the Hogwarts owl to beat the self pity out of his system.

Taking a deep breath, Harry opened the door and was presented with a group of thirty or so people, much larger then it was before. As he walked in, the chatter in the room ceased and within a second there was a loud cry of "Harry!" from all over the room, and he found himself in hugs from what seemed like a million arms. Trying to return all the embraces, he squeaked out a, "Hi."

A sharp voice from the back of the room- Minerva, no doubt- exclaimed, "Back off and let him breathe!" Most of the group moved back, except Hermione, who clung to him as if for her life.

"Oh, Harry, you idiot, you're back," she whispered, and took a step out to look at him, hands still on his shoulders. She looked so different then when he last saw her- of course, he'd received photographs every year, but seeing her in person was different. She was just so- old. It was slightly unnerving.

"Yeah, I am," he replied. Minerva cleared her throat from the back of the room. "We'll talk later," he added, flashing a smile at his other old friends- George, Angelina, Seamus, Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley, and a crying Molly Weasley, among others. He sat himself at the table and looked around. Besides his old friends, others he knew were sitting at the table: Draco was sitting between a graying Severus Snape and, of all people, Millicent Bulstrode. Snape was glaring at him, so Harry flashed his brightest smile at the man before Minerva started speaking.

"I'm most glad you all could make it tonight. I felt the need to have one more meeting before school gets into full swing, seeing as some of our members will be very busy. To start things off- Severus, Draco, Millicent, any word from Lucius?"

Millicent and Snape shook their heads, and Draco said, "I visited my mother a week ago and she said she hadn't seen him since May. He's been sending her owls but she has no idea where they're from. I think she's telling the truth."

George snorted, "You would." Oddly enough, Hermione shot him a glare.

Harry was rather confused. "Excuse me, Minerva, but I really have no idea of what's going on."

The Headmistress nodded, and glanced at Hermione. "Would you take Harry outside and explain the situation to him while we go over business?" Hermione nodded, and the two ducked out the door.

"Hermione, why is the-"

Hermione shook her head, and told him, "It's a continuation of the last war, Harry. We never apprehended Lucius Malfoy, and he became even more power crazy than he was before. He's started a group called the Malevolence with the intention of continuing Voldemort's work. He's already attacked the ministry twice- he killed the old Minister himself- and there've been about five raids on Muggle towns. He's gained supporters quickly, mostly children of those who were on Voldemort's side in the last war and nearly all of the survivors."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment to take the news in, and sighed. "Why did Minerva ask Draco and Snape and Millicent whether they'd seen Lucius? Are they spies? And I understand trusting Draco and Snape, I guess, but Millicent Bulstrode?"

Hermione flushed an angry red. "Harry Potter, do not even _think_ a bad thought towards Millicent. Asides from being a wonderful spy, which as you guessed the three are, she's very changed from the girl we knew in school. Her husband was a Death Eater, and used her eldest son as a shield in one of the post-Voldemort skirmishes. That woman has been through too much for you to go accusing her of being untrustworthy!"

At Hermione's impassioned defense of Millicent, Harry found himself baffled- until he remembered a similar rant to Hermione and Ron about Draco so many years ago.

"Hermione... are you... are you seeing her?" The idea was less alarming than it would have been years ago- age seemed to bring Millicent out of her hag-like appearance and made her look more motherly, like a scowling Mrs. Weasley.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am, and maybe if you'd owled more than a Christmas card over the past fifteen years you'd know about that! And the Malevolence and a million other things that you missed."

Harry winced, "I'm sorry, Hermione, I really am. I wish I could explain it to you but it's just so hard, and you wouldn't under-"

"Oh, you were upset about Draco leaving you and killing people in the war and Ron and Dumbledore and having a daughter by yourself, I know that. Don't presume me to be stupid."

"I didn't-"

"Did it ever occur to you that telling Draco, during your relationship, that you were planning on marrying Ginny Weasley might have taken away any incentive he had to stay with you?"

"Hermione, I'm sure this isn't what Minerva had in mind when sh-"

"Don't you interrupt me, Harold James Potter!" Harry was beginning to get the impression that years of motherhood had given Hermione an even more assertive personality than she had before. He found himself cowed into silence. 

"Leaving Britain was one the single most selfish thing you did in your entire life! To all of us, to the Weasleys and your friends and Draco and me." Hermione's voice cracked, and the lecturing tone was replaced with an emotional one. "God, you left right after Ron died and Ginny died and I had two babies and no one. I needed you so much and you left. If the Weasleys weren't there-"

Hermione started crying again, and Harry wrapped his arms around her. "Shhhh, I'm glad the Weasleys were there for you. And I'm back now, and I'm going to try to fix everything I messed up."

Hermione looked up at him through her tears, quickly regaining her composure as she pulled out of the hug. "You have to talk to Draco."

"Why are you so concerned about him all of a sudden?"

"It's not all of a sudden," Hermione replied, sniffling and wiping her face dry with a handkerchief produced from her back pocket. "We've known each other for six years. We're friends. I'm also his therapist."

Harry blinked, and rubbed his forehead. "You have _got to be kidding me."_

"Not in the least. The business was one of the best to go into post-war, and most of the wizards didn't know about therapy." She smiled. "I'm almost as rich as you now."

Shaking his head in amazement, Harry started laughing. "It makes sense, actually. You analyze everything, so you must love analyzing people."

"Of course I do. Let's get back inside. I hope I look composed- Millie will kill you if she finds out I was crying. But really, take what I said into consideration- you have to talk to Draco. You never had any closure with him."

"I already talked to him, Hermione."

She shook her head, sighing in frustration. "Asking him why he left and talking to him are two separate issues."

"Whatever happened to patient confidentiality?"

"Oh, he told me about your little interrogation before the meeting. What he tells me in the office is entirely different. Now, come on."

And as they re-entered the Room of Requirement, Harry realized that not only would he have to help save the world, again, but repair all the bridges he burned the first time around.

*****

On the morning of the first day of classes, Draia curiously peered at her schedule as her year-mates chattered around her.

"Errr… Maggie?"

"Yes, Draia?"

"Um, what's Herbology? And why aren't I in Dark Arts?"

Maggie stared at Draia as if a herring had suddenly sprouted from her hair. "You can't take Dark Arts here, Draia. It's _Hogwarts, for goodness sakes, not Durm- Oh."_

"Yeah," said Draia, "We had Dark Arts at Durmstrang. They started teaching us the first two of the Great Trio last year."

"The Great Trio? And that is?"

"Cruciatus, Imperius, and _Avada Ke-"_

"You're into the Dark Arts, Draia?" asked Thomas Flint, with perhaps a bit more excitement in his voice than Draia was comfortable with.

"Not really into, per se, but I'm fairly well versed. Our Headmaster wanted to remove it from the offered courses, but the board of governors threatened to have him killed if he so much as called up a vote," she replied, shrugging. "I'm good at a decent number of curses, though it wasn't my best subject. I can cast Cruciatus fairly well, but I can only pull Imperius on someone who's already open to suggestion."

Maggie shook her head, and looked like she was about to comment when Garon asked Draia, "So what classes are you in? And what's your focus?"

"Well, I have Charms, Herbology- although I don't know what that is, yet-"

"Plants and magical stuff you do with plants. And magical plants," supplied Ally helpfully.

"Oh, right. Ridiculous, it sounds- there were no plants in Durmstrang. Too cold. Anyway, those two, Potions, Defense Against Dark Arts- I wish I could have opted out of that, my father's spent enough time teaching me that sort of thing as it is. Hmmm, anyway, also Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, and," her voice took on a reverential quality, "Transfiguration. Which will, of course, be my focus, once McGonagall finds out how wonderful I am."

McGonagall was to find out how wonderful she was quicker than she thought, as she found herself pulled aside by the professor before she even went to her first class.

"Miss Potter, I need you to come with me, please."

Draia's thoughts instantly flashed back to her cigarette on the balcony; had that brat Malfoy already ratted on her? Or there was that thing last night in the Astronomy Tower- "Am I in trouble, Professor?"

McGonagall shook her head, as she walked out of the Great Hall, Draia in tow. "No, of course not. Simply Hogwarts isn't used to accommodating transfer students, and we need to see what level you're at compared to your year mates. I imagine the curriculum at Durmstrang is quite different?"

"That's an understatement, but yes, Professor. It has different qualities."

McGonagall frowned- no doubt she knew what some of the 'different qualities' were. "Well, yes then. I will be administering a test to determine your capabilities in the subjects you're enrolled in. There will be nine questions for each subject- one for each major concept covered in first through seventh years, one at the professional level for the subject, and one at the master's level. If you do above or below the average for your year on any subject, I'll consider independent study or tutoring for you."

Taking in her instructions, Draia nodded at the elderly Headmistress.

"As I'm sure your Slytherin year mates have informed you by now, sixth year students choose one subject to focus on and take an extra independent study in, with approval from the professor. What would your subject be?"

'Transfiguration," answered Draia confidently.

McGonagall looked pleased. "Most students don't choose Transfiguration as their focus. It would be wonderful to have you as an advisee. We'll see if your skill on the test matches your interest in the subject."

Five grueling hours of writing later, Draia felt she had sufficiently demonstrated her skill. McGonagall spent lunch looking over her answers, and Draia was sent to eat in the Great Hall. She couldn't help being slightly annoyed about missing her first classes, but the Slytherins assured her they would supply her with notes. At the end of the meal, she returned to McGonagall's office.

As Draia seated herself, McGonagall smiled at her. "Miss Potter, your Transfigurations essays were fantastic! You successfully completed the first eight questions, and had a good idea of where you were going but a lack of detailed theory for the ninth. You are quite far ahead of your year mates in that. You also placed one year above your class in Muggle Studies, two in Defense Against Dark Arts, and although you placed at your own level in Charms it was but a careless mistake that kept you from placing a year ahead. I'd be tempted to place you in seventh year and let you forego your sixth-"

Draia positively beamed.

"-were it not for the fact that you performed almost abysmally in Herbology and Potions! And barely made this year for Arithmancy, as well. You're not even at first year level in Herbology, and barely passed fourth for Potions. Would you care to explain?"

Despite the chastisement, Draia found herself amused. "We had no Herbology at Durmstrang. Or plants, for that matter. And I hate Potions. And I hated our Potions master."

"Well, I certainly hope you don't feel the same way towards Professor Malfoy, or you're going to have quite the time." The Headmistress' expression softened as she said, "Now, why don't we test out your Transfiguration ability? For instance, would you turn the quill on my desk into a piece of liquorish? And then, if you can, into something living."

Pointing her wand, Draia muttered the spells and the quill changed to red liquorish, and the liquorish to a friendly green garden snake.

"Fantastic! Now, perhaps, if you could turn me into a shoe and back again?"

Draia blinked. Human transfiguration was a touchy subject- there was a lot that could go wrong, and her Durmstrang professor had only just begun to cover the essentials for the topic. Of course, Draia had read ahead and felt adequately proficient at the subject, but she had only tested things on herself before, and never someone else. Then again, McGonagall was a skilled professor, and probably perfectly capable of fixing any of Draia's mistakes.

Muttering a quiet prayer in her head, Draia pointed her wand at McGonagall and watched as she transformed into a sensible gray shoe. After a moment, she transfigured her back, beaming at her success. Her smile was matched by McGonagall's.

"You show a lot of promise in Transfiguration, Miss Potter. I will allow you to take it on as your focus, and furthermore exempt you from the classes with your year mates; instead, I'll devise a schedule of independent study for you and you'll check in with me for a lesson once a week."

Draia was delighted. "Thank you so much, Professor!"

McGonagall nodded in reply, "You're quite welcome, dear. I have a question for you, though- are you an Animagus?"

The blonde girl paled, biting on her lip before she responded, "I want to be. But I've tried and- I don't know, maybe I'm trying too hard." She shrugged.

The Headmistress nodded thoughtfully, "It's a helpful skill to have. Perhaps it will be something to work on during your studies this year."

"I'd like that. Am I done now, Professor?"

"Just a few more things to clear up. I'm going to allow you to drop Herbology in favor of having you devote more time to Transfiguration, but I expect the amount of work you do to be equal to that of two classes. All of your other classes, I'm leaving you with your year- I expect you'll learn different things here at Hogwarts than you did at Durmstrang. And for Potions, I'm assigning you a tutor, our top student. You'll meet with Harriet on Saturday Evenings in the Potions lab, with her father supervising."

"Excuse me, Professor," started Draia, piping up her most charming voice, "but you don't mean Harriet Malfoy, do you?"

"Why yes, Miss Potter, I do. Why? Is there a problem with that?"

Draia sighed. "No. No problem."

"Wonderful, then. You're excused- I believe you have ten minutes until your last class."

With a nod of acknowledgement, Draia hopped off the chair and kept a neutral look on her face until she left the room. "That little Gryffindor prat is going to tutor me? This could not possibly be worse!" she exclaimed, as she pulled out her schedule to find out what her last class was.

It was Potions.

"Nevermind."

******

Harriet adored Potions. For one, her father taught it, and therefore she was very rarely yelled at when she did something wrong. Not that she did very much wrong, since Potions was her best subject, and she one of the three top Potions students in the school. Another benefit was that, although her father was quite harsh towards the Gryffindors in other years in the traditional manner of Slytherin Potions Masters, he was more lenient to those in her class, particularly her friends. Then again, Mrs. Weasley would have yelled his ears off were he too insensitive to any of her children or numerous nieces and nephews.

Despite her love of Potions, Harriet abhorred the fact that her proficiency in the subject caused her to often be the tutor of choice for struggling students. Usually it was just tedious- she couldn't understand how they didn't just _get it_, it was only following instructions- but this time it was too much. She'd received a note from the Headmistress during late lunch asking her to tutor, of all people, Draia fucking Potter.

That obnoxious Slytherin who deemed it within her right, as a faculty child, to break the rules before school even started. And in such a disgusting manner, too- cigarettes. She despised wizard smokers, figuring they ought to know better than the Muggles who were the prime consumers of the noxious weed.

_And it's not just that,_ she fumed in her head, _There's__ just something about her that's not quite right. She positively reeks of Dark Arts abuse. Durmstrang. Honestly, did Professor Potter have no sense?_

Drawing her thoughts away from the annoying girl (who was, even more annoyingly, sitting in the row in front of her), Harriet focused on the positives of today. Quidditch practice was going to start- she'd been groomed for the position of Seeker since she was six, and although she wasn't phenomenal, she was more than able to beat the Hufflepuff seeker, Jackie Macmillan, and usually the Ravenclaws' too, Matt Weasley, Megan's older brother. The Slytherins posed more of a problem, but their Seeker, Elizabeth Greengrass, graduated last year. There was no way they'd train a new Seeker up to the abilities of the other three within a year; Harriet could almost feel the Quidditch Cup in her hands already.

"Miss Malfoy!" It was always a shock to hear her father refer to her as that, but he couldn't very well call her Harriet, or worse, Rit, in class. "I hope your deep thoughts are about the potion you're brewing, since you have about ten seconds until a crucial point."

"Sorry," she responded, a light blush settling on her cheeks as she returned to her work. Andrew, her partner, elbowed her and whispered, "What was that about?"

"I'll tell you later," she responded, as she poured distilled Phlia dew into her cauldron.

After class, Andrew followed her out and Emily met them outside the door. "Again, what was that all about? You never daydream in Potions!" exclaimed Andrew, as they walked towards Gryffindor tower. Harriet appreciated all of the Gryffindors, but she was especially close to Andrew and Emily: they shared her passion for academics as well as her curiosity about the odd events that seemed to always happen at Hogwarts.

"I was thinking about Quidditch," Harriet told him.

"Quidditch doesn't distract you like that. What's wrong?" asked Emily.

"I just don't fancy teaching Potions to the new Potter girl, that's all. She's been here not two full days and she's already a thorn in my side. I just dislike her."

"She _is_ my cousin, you know. She can't be all that bad," said Andrew.

Harriet huffed, as they started walking up the many stairs to Gryffindor. "I just get such a bad feeling from her- like she's up to something, maybe part of the Malevolence."

Emily gently said, "You can't judge someone's alliances on what they seem like, Harriet, you know that. A lot of students still think that _you're_ part of-"

"I have nothing to do whatsoever with the Malevolence and you know it," retorted Harriet heatedly, speeding up her pace.

"We know that, Rit, but he _is your grandfather! Besides, how could the Potter girl be with him? Think of who her dad is," said Andrew, sighing and running to catch up to Harriet as Emily did the same. _

"He sent her to Durmstrang. He's blind."

Andrew and Emily cast a glance at each other, knowing the conversation would go nowhere- if anything Harriet was very outspoken against those who practiced the Dark Arts, and almost as paranoid as the old Auror Moody was said to be. It was partially her nature, and partially paranoia of being connected to her grandfather's initiative, that made her so antagonistic. Her father had to reprimand her on many occasions for her hostility towards Slytherins, and he was the only one of them she was willing to speak to in a friendly manner.

"So," started Emily, intending to change the subject, "how's Quidditch looking this year?"

Harriet rolled her eyes, recognizing the diversion tactic, but going along with it anyway. "With the addition of that obnoxious Irish girl as our new beater-" Emily smacked her on the back of her head, "-I think our team has the Cup. Gift wrapped, even. Of course, the Slytherins have a Weasley, which gives them an edge-"

"Though Maggie is more like Aunt Hermione than the other Weasleys, except maybe my father," interjected Andrew.

"Yes, well, they have her. But we have three. So we win. Lion pride," Harriet said to the Fat Lady, as she nodded at the three Gryffindors and let them into the common room.

"Well, at least nothing can go wrong with Quidditch this year. The Cup's ours," said Andrew, as the three made their way to the couch to start their homework.

******

Draco considered it his obligation to spend time in the Slytherin common room with his students. His theory was that if they had an adult presence, the chances of them getting into mischief and/or the Dark Arts would be lower. It also gave him a chance to bond with the students, who saw him as a protector in a time when, once again, Slytherins were under suspicion.

Currently, he was less engaged with talking to students and more engaged with fixing the hole in his Quidditch team. He loved his daughter dearly and hoped that she would win all of her matches- except those against Slytherin. He very much wanted to see the Quidditch Cup in Slytherin hands again, and the person he felt was key to doing so was sitting in front of the fire, glaring at the homework he had assigned in class.

"Miss Potter?" he asked, and she turned around, glancing at him. Those green eyes- exactly like Harry's. A pang of hurt rushed through his veins, but he pushed it into the back of his head to deal with later. "You played Quidditch at Durmstrang, correct?"

She nodded, "It wasn't quite as formal or celebrated as it seems to be here, since we didn't have houses,  but I played on my year's team as Seeker."

"I take it you won most of the time?"

"Of course," she replied with a smirk. Inwardly, Draco groaned. A smirking Weasley in Slytherin was mind bending enough- a smirking Potter was almost worse. Still, Draco remembered knew another Potter who occasionally smirked and revealed, oh so long ago, that he had a Slytherin side to him as well...

Quidditch. He was going to focus on Quidditch. Not certain older members of the Potter family.

"Our Seeker graduated last year, and we were going to hold tryouts for the position, but none of the students are really talented enough. You have the experience and, if you're anything like your father, the talent to be an excellent Seeker for our team."

Apparently thrilled at the notion, Draia nodded eagerly. "That'd be fantastic, Professor. Thank you."

He nodded, wished her goodnight, and began to walk towards his chambers. He wasn't sure he could take the sight of those delighted green eyes for much longer- they reminded him too much of Harry.

Once safely inside his sitting room, Draco collapsed onto a couch. "I do not like this situation. Not at all," he said to the ceiling, and the painted dragon on it seemed to nod in agreement with him, before returning to the task of attacking its own tail. The blonde's mind was buzzing with thoughts, mostly along the lines of _Why did I fuck up so badly when I talked to Harry? _and_ Why did I expect anything to be the same, anyway?_

The rational part of his mind answered him, _Because__ explaining why you ran out on him at the last second couldn't have ended any way but poorly, and because you want it to be. Maybe you need it to be. Arrogant prat._

He promptly told this part of his mind to shut up and mind its own business, thank you very much. Realizing that he was arguing with himself, he groaned, and pulled a pillow over his face. He wished he still had some of the haughtiness of his youth with him- he'd tell himself the whole thing would blow over, curse off Potter for being an idiot, and get on with things. Sixteen years as a single father had beaten out most of his overwhelming sense of superiority- though not all of it.

"He'll come around. I am a Malfoy, after all."


	6. Chapter Six, or Tutoring and Talking

After her first week of Potions classes, Draia understood why she needed tutoring. She was more than a bit behind the rest of the students in her knowledge of the subject, and even the whispered help of her partner, Maggie, couldn't enable her to create a potion correctly. By her third and final class of the week, Professor Malfoy was so frustrated with her that he actually took five points from Slytherin and gave her a detention. Then again, she _did_ make her cauldron spit out some substance that ate a hole through Harriet Malfoy's robe.

In retrospect, Draia reasoned, she probably would have gotten off free were it not for the fact that she burst into uncontrollable laughter upon seeing the hole exposing the other girl's shoulder.

Come Saturday night, she was very annoyed at the thought of wasting her evening in the Potions lab. As she walked towards the door of the common room, Thomas Flint ran up to her.

"Hey Potter!"

"What do you want, Flint?"

"After your lesson, will you meet up with me in the boys' dorm?"

Draia frowned, "Won't I get in trouble?"

He shook his head. "I'm a Prefect. You'll have no trouble."

"Alright, fine. I'll see you after my torture session."

"Thanks!" he responded cheerfully, and walked back to the couch.

_Now what's all that about?_ Draia wondered as she made her way to the Potions lab. She shrugged mentally, and made a note in the back of her head to think about it later. Right now, she had the present to deal with.

Inside the lab, Harriet was at the demonstration table, bent over a cauldron. She didn't notice Draia's arrival, and the Slytherin had to clear her throat to catch the other girl's attention.

"You're late," announced Harriet in an irritated tone, as she measured out powdered something-or-other for her concoction.

"Sorry," replied Draia, shrugging, as she made her way to the front of the room. "One of my housemates stopped me on the way over."

"Yes, well, perhaps if you spent less time socializing and more on your studies, we wouldn't have this inconvenient arrangement in the first place."

Draia sneered at Harriet's hunched over form as she made her way to the cupboard to retrieve her own cauldron. "I've been here for, what, a week? Who are you to make pronouncements about my social life? You don't even know me."

"For which I'm very thankful. Now, if you'd open up your textbook to page seventy, we can try to make this as brief as is humanly possible." As she spoke, Harriet pushed her own cauldron to the side so Draia could place hers on the table. Instead of grabbing a chair from behind one of the students' desks, Draia transfigured her book bag into a slightly wobbly three legged stool.

"Show off," muttered Harriet. "Now, according to Pa- I mean, Professor Malfoy, your main trouble has been with paying attention to directions. The entirety of the directions. He says you dumped all of your ingredients into the cauldron at once."

"Well, I don't see why it makes any difference- it all ends up having all the same things, anyway..."

Harriet cast a disgusted glance at Draia. "If you mix powdered unicorn's horn with phoenix tears, then add a dash of powdered moonstone, you have a powerful healing draught. Mix the horn and moonstone, then add the phoenix tears, and you have an explosion of fantastic proportions. There is _quite_ a difference."

"Well, pardon me for not caring..." grumbled Draia, idly thumbing through her potions text.

"You may want to keep in mind that I'm a prefect and am perfectly capable and entirely willing to take points from Slytherin," retorted Harriet. As the other girl opened her mouth to respond, Harriet continued, "And I'm sure your father would be interested to learn about your smoking habit."

Draia's mouth closed quite firmly.

"Let's try this again, now that I have your attention. Open your text to page seventy..."

------

Because Millicent was out of town, Hermione found herself with little to do on Saturday evening. Deciding it was important to do a little post-fifteen-year-disappearance friendship mending, she invited herself to Harry's rooms at Hogwarts. After admonishing him for having intended to spend his night reading adventure novels in his bathrobe, they talked for hours. Hermione was careful to avoid any topics relevant to Harry's life prior his departure, and Harry certainly didn't tread near the subject. Until...

"So, why _did_ you marry Ginny Weasley?"

"Hermione, I don't want to-"

"I don't care. Everyone else may have believed your 'Oh, we're so in love' ruse, but I knew she got over you fourth year, and was certainly no wilting flower to love you while you chased after men. So what's the reason?"

Harry sighed as Hermione curled herself into the corner of his couch, as if awaiting a long story. "Luna," he answered,.

With a frown, Hermione asked, "What do you mean, 'Luna'? That's not an answer. What does Luna have to do with anything?"

"They were together. It was a marriage of convenience. Sort of so we could have kids, and keep a good public image. Ginny thought that Luna was charming, in a crazy kind of way, and Luna saw Ginny as the next best thing to Ron, since you had him. It was actually supposed to be a good surprise for Draco, not a bad one- Ginny wanted me and him to be in charge of whatever children she had." Harry paused, and took a sip from the glass of Firewhiskey and Coke (quite the mouth tingling combination) sitting in front of him. Wiping his mouth off with his sleeve, he continued, "I guess I should have told him that Ginny was with Luna before I told him I was marrying her."

Hermione was silent for a moment, before an exasperated expression took hold of her face. "Is _everybody _gay?" Harry grinned at her pointedly, and she exhaled loudly in annoyance. "Yes, I understand that I'm not one to be saying that, but... Ginny and Luna? That's a bit too much."

Harry shrugged, "It wasn't my idea. Nor was the marriage- that was all Ginny. I thought Draco would be pleased..." he mused, his eyes glazing as he slipped into memories. Hermione caught his attention with a smack to his arm.

"You two have some talking to do."

"We've been through this."

"Oh, for God's sake... have you seen anyone since breaking up with him? And one week things don't count."

"Well, no- Hermione, I'm thirty-five. I have a sixteen year old daughter. It's a little late in life for me to date."

Hermione smiled indulgently. "He hasn't seen anyone since then, either. You go all misty eyed when you talk about him. He goes all misty eyed when he talks about you. Shouldn't there be some reconciliation?"

"It's been too long, 'Mione. I just can't."

With a sigh of resignation, Hermione looked Harry in the eyes and said, "Suit yourself. But I'm willing to bet that Draco's thinking of you right now, even."

------

Draco was actually asleep at an abnormally early hour, dreaming about green horses that chased after him telling him they would _make_ him eat more vegetables.

------

After what was in her opinion an excessively long and infuriating tutoring session, Draia returned to the Slytherin dorms. Her mind was turning over the many cutting things Harriet had said- that girl certainly developed quick grudges and leapt to assumptions. _She practically thinks I'm the next Voldemort. "I'm sure you fit in quite well at Durmstrang." Stupid cow. Of course I fit in at Durmstrang, because unlike you, I have more social graces than a leprous squib..._

Exhausted, Draia started towards the door leading to the sixth year girls' dorms, before remembering her earlier conversation with Flint. With a groan, she turned and went towards the boys' dorms instead. She knocked on the door, and Flint was instantly opening it for her. "Come in, we've been waiting for you forever!"

With a shrug, Draia apologized, "The slave driver overworked me," as she stepped into the room. Asides from Flint, Greg Goyle, Mitch Rabion, Lindsay Crabbe, and Jesalyn Thelps all sat on the beds of the room. They smiled and nodded greetings to Draia, clearly expecting Flint to be their spokesman.

_This is not a good thing. Nope. Not at all- Maggie said anything involving __Flint__, Rabion, and Thelps at the same time is the kind of thing I should stay away from. Damnit._

"I'm really tired, so if you could just tell me what you want..."

Flint nodded. "Well, nothing tonight, but we were wondering if you could teach us some of the things you learned at Durmstrang... because McGonagall," he practically spit the name, "doesn't feel that it's an important part of our education. But you must know what you're doing."

"Exactly what's in it for me?" asked Draia with a false cool tone. In reality, her heartbeat sped up- her schoolmates had all but announced their position in the current conflict. Maggie had explained some of the Slytherin mannerisms and ethics to her, saying that many of their housemates would support a cause as vocally as they safely could, but it was a shock to Draia to actually witness it.

But... these were alliances that could put to her advantage, and her father's too. So if the compensation was enough...

In her thoughts, Draia didn't notice Thelps standing up and walking- no, _sauntering_- towards her. She finally returned to the present world when she felt the other Slytherin's hand on her thigh. Flint spoke, although to Draia he seemed to have moved miles away. "After that thing with the seventh year, your proclivities are pretty well known. Jesalyn here is more than willing to help with that."

Jesalyn wasn't an ugly girl at all; in fact, if you ignored the fact that she had a tendency to look down her nose at pretty much everything, you could say she was beautiful. And she had very, _very_ clever hands.

Struggling to speak, Draia replied, "That's.... that's good. That works. That works very well, oh, that's working very well indeed... maybe that could work well a little higher- oof!" she cried as Flint grabbed Jesalyn off of Draia.

"I'm glad that's sufficient for you. You two can... chat... after our first lesson, which will be tomorrow," announced Flint.

"Will it, now?" asked Draia, eying the dark haired boy with what she hoped was a dangerous look. Jesalyn moved back towards her, and Draia felt a tongue on her neck. All thoughts of pleasing her father and gathering information dropped from her mind. "Tomorrow's good."


End file.
